Weather the Storm
by littlechivalry
Summary: Is Draco strong enough to weather the storm?  Is Harry?  A 'Choose your own ending story,' happy or sad, inspired by a ghost story documentary.  HD slash, minor. Character death.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't remotely own Harry Potter, nor do I own this story idea. It's based on a ghost story I saw on television a few months ago. I am such a burglar, I am a ham-burglar. Robble-robble.

(_12345_)

**TO WEATHER A STORM**

_They were dancing now. Dancing forever in gentle moonlight, in the abandoned classroom._

They'd met before, when they were children, but the first time they really saw each other was the night of the ball.

The war had been over for a year, and on this, the anniversary of the Wizarding World's release from under the heavy boot of the Dark Lord, a ball had been thrown for the victors, the survivors.

Held in Hogwarts naturally, not the site of the final battle, but the place where the tide had turned, where war became more reality than just a misty possibility and the most famous and tragic martyring had taken place. On the night Dumbledore had been killed, and Death Eaters had raided this spot, long considered a sanctuary, war had come to Wizardkind.

Draco hadn't wanted to come. Reluctantly acquitted by testimony and penseive memories, he still spent the duration of the war in circumstances only slightly better than they would have been had he actually been guilty of the Headmasters death. Living in squalor and brewing the potions he was ordered to as the Order trooped back and forth through Grimmaud Place, he'd actually contributed greatly to the victory of the light, but now all he wanted to do was rest in the shadows.

The Ministry had appropriated most of the Malfoy holdings, but they had allowed him a reasonable monthly subsidy, and bolstered by more potions work he was able to live quite comfortably in a small, quiet flat. In the ballroom, bright and merry, full of people that scorned him even as they owed their lives to him, there was no doubt he wished to be back there, alone.

"Why so sad, Ferret? Missing your Master?"

"Yes, Weasel. I'm all torn up inside over that mass-murdering bastard. In fact, if you don't mind moving, I have to go weep over his grave."

No matter that they had fought on the same side in the end, Draco and Weasley had become no closer, no friendlier. And that was fine with Draco. He pushed past the red head and headed for the doors.

It was raining lightly outside, and the cool mist felt good against his over-heated skin. He wanted to blame the abundance of candles inside, but maybe it was the weight of the stares he'd been under. Though he was a light warrior, he was still Dark-born and a blood traitor.

"You shouldn't be out here, Draco, it's only going to get worse."

The rain had gotten harder, but the blond boy was enjoying the stinging pressure on his skin. Even the voice of his lover wasn't enough to distract him.

"Come on. You don't want to get sick."

There was that cajoling tone in Harry's voice that Draco had gotten so used to. The same voice that persuaded him to speak of what had happened with Voldemort when he first landed on the door step of Grimmaud Place. That same tone had convinced the boy into good behavior, into friendship, into bed with the green-eyed boy.

"If I go in, will you dance with me? In the middle of the floor, surrounded by all of your friends, your fans? Will you dance with me?"

Draco closed his eyes against the rain now, waiting for Harry's answer. Their romance had been a secret from the beginning. First to protect both of them from Voldemort and his Death Eaters who would take advantage of any vulnerabilities. Then, their love was too new to be exposed, finally it was just easier not to say anything. The two men lived separately, moved in different circles.

The Golden Boy wasn't supposed to touch the Dark Prince.

"Will you dance with me, Harry?"

Eyes closed against the rain and he felt his lover's warm arms wrap around his middle. The gusty sigh against his ear provided all the answer he was really expecting, but he listened to Harry anyway.

"I can't Draco. I wish I could-- wish we lived in a world where I could be with you, boy or not, Slytherin or not, Death Eater or not. But I don't. We don't."

"So I'm to be your secret?" Draco kept his voice as steady as he could, but the rain had soaked his robes and the cold was reaching in.

"It's for your own good, Draco. People are hard enough on you already. What would happen if they knew about us? They would think you had bespelled me, or blackmailed me, or something like that, and they would never leave us- you alone."

Shivering now, though Harry's arms tightened, almost painfully, around him, "I don't care, Harry. It's just public opinion. If you can weather the storm, so can I."

"Love, you can barely stand in this rain, and if you can't make it through a regular storm, how can we get through what they'll do with us when they find out?"

Draco pulled free of Harry's arms, clawing tight hands from his stomach. Adjusting his sodden robes around himself, he said, "I can weather this storm Harry. I can make it through anything."

A burst of light and noise as Weasel's head popped out through the doors, "Harry? Are you out here? Come back in, we're playing cards."

Harry turned to Draco, sweeping water from his glasses, "I have to go in, but remember, I love you. Even if we can't… You know."

With that the boy turned and went back towards the party. Behind him, Draco called out, "I can weather the storm, Harry! Can you?"

(_12345_)

There was a small hidden classroom in the Astronomy Tower. The first time he saw it Harry had brought him there, saying something about a map. The restoration of Hogwarts was going on then and the halls were full of wizards and charms and spells to strengthen the old walls and wards. This had been the first time the two boys had a chance to get away from the crowd.

At first Draco had fought against their destination, going so far as to drag his heels against the floors, protesting the entire cliché nature of it. But Harry insisted that he knew a room no one else would be able to find, even in the Tower, site of many a student tryst and possessed of no undiscovered niches. It would become their favorite spot to be together, arranging meetings sometimes weeks in advance, following hidden trails to the small room, avoiding all eyes.

The room was tiny, maybe it wasn't a classroom, but some professor's quarters, back in the days when there had been more students, and more teachers needed for them. Tattered couches rested against the walls, and a small balcony opened out into the sky.

They had made love on that balcony, exposed to the sun, but hidden from all prying eyes, and Draco could still remember feeling the breeze across his skin, as he retraced the steps first taken so many months ago.

Outside the storm was raging. The gentle mist he had felt had grown into howling winds and sharp streaks of lightning across the roiling sky.

_I will weather the storm. I will be that strong. I love him and I am not afraid._

Standing at the open doors of that balcony, Draco removed his robes, folding them carefully and setting them on the floor, out of the way. He had something to prove.

Naked and pale, soaked and shivering, Draco made his way onto the narrow balcony to wait out the storm.

(_12345_)

**Note: **Okay, now, this ghost story has a sad ending from this part on, as most do, but I like a happy ending, so I'm going to do both. If you want the original ending, hit 'next,' but if you feel you need a little happy, skip on to Chapter 3.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or Draco Malfoy. Or, for that matter, Ron Weasley. But don't tell them that, the poor dears would be so disappointed.

(_12345_)

**SAD (ORIGINAL) ENDING**

Two hours into the card game and Harry's eyes were drifting shut. The wine and Firewhisky had flown freely and he'd enjoyed enough alcohol to loosen his tongue. Staring out of the card room and into the mass of colorful, twirling dancers, he searched for a familiar white-blond head.

"Where's Draco?"

Ron looked at him oddly, "Don't you mean 'Malfoy,' Harry?"

"Nope. Draco. My Draco, matter of fact. Left him outside, but he hasn't come back in yet."

The red head snorted softly, "Better hope the Ferret has, mate. If he's still out there, he's drowned by now."

"It's that bad?"

"It was pouring bloody cats and dogs out there."

_I can weather the storm, Harry! Can you?_

Harry, rose from his chair and rushed from the hall, ignoring his friends calls.

Draco wasn't on the front steps where the two of them had been earlier, and Harry only hoped the blond man hadn't left the castle. Digging the Marauder's Map out of his robes, he tapped it and waited for his lovers name to appear.

Searching the thousands of paths and trails that covered the old castle, he found the name he wanted in their room, their private place in the Astronomy Tower. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry made his way upstairs to the old classroom.

Walking in, he felt the rush of memories over his skin, "Draco? Love, are you here?"

Harry didn't see him, but the room was dark and draped in shadows. On one of their visits here, Draco had hidden by one of the couches, waiting until Harry had almost given up hope before jumping out and covering him with kisses. They'd spent the rest of that day laughing about the very successful 'ambush.'

"Draco, are you here? Please don't hide.

I'm sorry.

I love you."

Still, the blond didn't appear. Harry wandered from couch to couch, prodding each and checking the dark spaces next to and behind them.

On the last couch by the door, he found a pile of robes, neatly folded. In the dark room, he couldn't see the design, but that he felt embroidery at all meant they were Draco's.

"I know you're here. Did you get an invisibility cloak?"

The shutters protecting the room from the storm outside slammed against the wall. As Harry went to latch them tightly, he saw a pale form crumpled against the stone wall on the balcony.

Ethereal, unreal, like an angel, or a fairy, _or a ghost_.

He knelt down, "Draco? Draco, love? Wake up. Wake up."

The blond didn't stir. Harry remembered an old muggle first aid class well enough to know that he had to get the boy warm. He gathered the slight figure up in his arms and brought him inside. A wave of his wand transformed two couches into a fireplace built up to a hearty blaze.

Settling the blond on another couch, he transfigured as many blankets as he could, then he began rubbing the blond man's limbs firmly, trying to bring some warmth into the cold flesh.

"Wake up love. Wake up. You're so cold.

Wake up.

Merlin, please wake up. You were right, you weathered the storm. You won. Now please wake up. I owe you a dance, you have to wake up.

Draco?"

Ron found them there a few hours later, with a team of Aurors, just in case that 'bloody Malfoy' had done something. The medi-witch in the troop took over with the former Slytherin, but it was no good.

They left the boys alone, nothing could be done, and Harry wouldn't leave the blondes side. The green-eyed boy said something about 'weathering the storm,' and refused to leave as the wind howled around the Astronomy Tower.

Ron went back after the storm ended the next morning to find his friend. The two of them arranged a simple, dignified burial for Draco,

The headstone read, "Draco Lucius Malfoy- Beloved and unafraid."

(_12345_)

Two months later, Harry caught a stray curse, not even meant for him, but he didn't fight it off. He smiled as the green light hit him, and people said it was the most peaceful he'd ever looked.

His relationship with Draco Malfoy an open issue now, he was buried next to his love with great pomp and ceremony, under a head stone that read, 'Harry James Potter- Beloved and undeserving.'

_They were dancing now. Dancing forever in gentle moonlight, in the abandoned classroom._

(_12345_)

**Note: **So, that's the sad ending. The true story is of an octaroon (a mixed-race woman) and a white man in New Orleans, a long time ago, Julie and Zachary. She fell in love with him and wanted a wedding, but he couldn't marry her, so they lived together as lovers. But it hurt her, she wanted to marry the man she loved, and society stood against them. One night, there was a violent storm and she said if she could weather nature's storm, then the two of them could weather society's opinion of their love. So, while Zachary was downstairs playing cards, she stripped off and went onto the balcony of their love nest. A few hours later, he came up and found her there, dead, and he died shortly thereafter.

I saw it on television a few months ago, a special on ghosts, and I thought, "Damn, this would make a great angst story."

Now, if you don't love the angst, head on up to the next chapter, while I make things a little happier.

I'm sorry, did you need a tissue? I have one right here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I, uh, still don't own them.

(_12345_)

**HAPPY ENDING**

Two hours into the card game and Harry's eyes were drifting shut. The wine and Firewhisky had flown freely and he'd enjoyed enough alcohol to loosen his tongue.

"Where's Draco?"

Ron looked at him oddly, "Don't you mean 'Malfoy,' Harry?"

"Nope. Draco. My Draco, matter of fact. Left him outside, but he hasn't come back in yet."

The red head snorted softly, "Better hope the Ferret has, mate. If he's still out there, he's drowned by now."

"It's that bad?"

"It was pouring bloody cats and dogs out there."

_I can weather the storm, Harry! Can you?_

Harry, rose from his chair and rushed from the hall, ignoring his friends calls.

Draco wasn't on the front steps where the two of them had been earlier, and Harry only hoped the blond man hadn't left the castle. Digging the Marauder's Map out of his robes, he tapped it and waited for his lovers name to appear.

Searching the thousands of paths and trails that covered the old castle, he found the name he wanted in their room, their private place in the Astronomy Tower. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry made his way upstairs to the old classroom.

Walking in, he felt the rush of memories over his skin, "Draco? Love, are you here?"

"Ha- Harry?"

Harry followed the wavering voice out onto the balcony, to find the pale, shivering form of his love.

"Draco, Merlin, are you all right?"

The blond boy seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Harry gathered him up in his arms, jostling him gently to keep him awake.

"I survived, Harry. I'm strong enough for you."

Dragging Draco's abandoned robes up around both of them, Harry transfigured two couches into a large fireplace and held on to his love as tight as he could. He knew they had to get to the Infirmary, but right this minute, he had to get Draco warm enough to be moved.

Eyes half lidded, still Draco's gaze cut through the black-haired boy. "I'm strong Harry. Are you strong? Was this worth it?"

Harry pondered the question, and all of the possible consequences of this night as Draco slowly warmed up in his arms. After the Slytherin had regained his normal, though still pale, coloring, he carried him down to Madame Pomphrey's domain.

Down in the Infirmary, he held Draco's hand, oblivious to the medi-witch working around him and the curious stares he received from everyone that passed through the white room.

(_12345_)

It was a miracle that Draco had survived the exposure, barely breathing and with only a slight, soft heartbeat, he had developed severe pneumonia in the Infirmary, tossing in fever and nightmare for days.

But the fever had broken on the fourth night. Now the man was just sleeping, and so was Harry, one hand still clasped in his, head resting on the worn mattress.

_Will you dance with me, Harry?_

Draco woke to the feeling of warmth, a sensation he had forgotten out on the balcony in the storm. Warmth and the weight of something on his chest. Looking down he saw a tanned arm draped over his body, and attached to it was a head of tousled black hair.

It was Harry. Harry had found him.

Feeling the other man's hand in his, he quickly shook it free, hoping no one had seen them together. Maybe it wouldn't be too late for his lover to pass this off as another dramatic rescue. But the shaking woke Harry, and he turned sleep-bleared eyes on Draco.

"What are you doing, love?"

"'Love?' Harry, you shouldn't say that, someone might hear--"

Cut off mid-sentence but pleasantly by the pressure of warm lips against his own, Draco didn't fight the kiss, he just relaxed into it, in case it was the last.

When Harry sat back into his chair, and Draco had had the chance to catch his breath, he said, "I had time to think out there, love, and I can't ask you to come out for me. It's not fair to you to lose the people you love. I can wait until you're ready. I'm strong enough, and if you don't want me anymore, well, I'm strong enough for that too-"

Again disrupted by a kiss, this one he fought, had to speak what he felt.

"Harry? What the hell are you doing with him?"

Hearing the Weasels' voice, Draco braced himself for Harry to pull away from the kiss, excusing it as some of that muggle 'breath of life,' as they'd done once before when they were caught.

But Harry didn't stop, didn't pull away. The two men kissed as Draco heard the Weasel sputter and stomp off, out of the room.

Gathering all of his strength, Draco pushed Harry away. Fighting his own body because all he wanted to do was pull the man closer, "Harry, what are you doing? They'll know now, you know Weasel can't keep is mouth shut."

Harry smiled.

"I'm giving you an out, Potter. Take it if you want it."

Draco felt Harry's hands at the sides of his face, the other man speaking through tears, "You weathered the storm, love. So can I."

(_12345_)

It wasn't an easy life, Harry and Draco had to learn to live together. The press had a field day with the news that the Malfoy and Potter heirs were in love. And Harry's friends weren't much help, though Hermione, always a sucker for a romantic story, accepted it easily. Over time, people got used to it. It wasn't scandalous anymore, it just was.

Draco and Harry were happy. They had weathered the storm, and they knew they would be together, in this life, and any life to come.

Centuries after their deaths, and the deaths of their friends and family, when all events had been consigned to legends and dusty history books, students still claimed they saw the ghosts of two young men, one blond and one black-haired, swaying gently in each other's arms.

_They were dancing now. Dancing forever in gentle moonlight, in the abandoned classroom._

(_12345_)

**Note:** So, that's the happy ending. I think I prefer the sad one, but there you go.

Please review and let me know which ending you prefer, and how you liked the story in general.


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